


It's Never Twins

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: There was a monster under Brea's bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, season four's off to a great start (*jump cut to author blowing her nose obnoxiously into a tissue before throwing it into the giant pile of tear-soaked tissues and continuing crying*) and it inspired me to open up my Sherlolly oneshot WIPs folder. This was the first thing that jumped out at me, and with a bit of polishing this happened. Tadaa.
> 
> ... Apologies in advance for this one.

 

There was a monster under Brea's bed.

 

Not a bad monster, no. She'd seen the movie with the ones that lived in closets, those were okay monsters, so the monsters under her bed had to be okay too.

 

But her monster was noisy. It just would not fall asleep that night. It kept clunking and banging, like a loose sink pipe. She knew all about those because one time the kitchen got all wet and Mummy's friend Greg fixed it. Greg was Papa's friend too but Papa was emo-tu-nit-ly con-sti-PA-ted. That's what Mummy said. She even taught Brea how to say it, but only about Papa. Papa didn't like to say he had friends, but he had friends. Greg was his friend, and John was his friend, and Mary was his friend, and Rosie (who was Brea's BEST friend in the whole world) was his friend, and Mummy was his friend, and even Brea was his friend, because you can be friends with your Papa.

 

She really wanted to lean over and tell the monster to be quiet, but she was still very very worried about it. She knew monsters were okay, but they also had very sharp claws and teeth and who knew maybe they just didn't like being bothered and got very mad when they did.

 

Mummy would know how to tell it off. She was very good at that.

 

Brea gathered up her baby blanket and her Paddington and stuck her thumb firmly in her mouth for good luck. She stood up on her bed, peering over cautiously. The door was really far away... she could make it.

 

With a determined gulp and a prepared shimmy, Brea leaped off the bed, far from where the monster could reach (it lived under a bed, it probably had really short arms), and hurried to the door. She slipped out of the room, keeping the door closed so the hall light wouldn't bother it, and started down the stairs.

 

Brea was very careful that she didn't trip over her blanket, because that had happened before, and Papa had gotten really worried (even though he was emo-tu-nit-ly con-sti-PA-ted, Mummy said she knew how to tell what Papa was feeling, and he was SO SO SO worried) that he'd scooped her up like a little little baby and ran all the way out into the street until a cabbie picked them up and went to Mummy's work. And then Mummy's friend doctor ... Dr... well it was a doctor, she made Brea's leg ALL better. But since then Brea was super careful when she was walking down the stairs.

 

Someone was lying down in the living room. Which was a very funny spot to sleep. At least, she thought he was sleeping. When she wandered close, she could see his eyes were wide open. He was staring up at the ceiling! That was a very very funny thing to do. It was especially funny to sleep in a puddle of juice.

 

Brea was about to ask him why he was doing it, when a small noise behind her made her look in the kitchen.

 

Papa was there, leaning on the table there. He had his phone in his hands. He was looking at her, looking like he didn't know what was happening. That happened a lot to Brea, because she was little and she couldn't know everything when she was little (but that was ok because she was going to get really big one day and know everything, even more than Papa did).

 

"Papa?" she asked.

 

Papa took a slow breath, really shaky.

 

"B-Brea," he said back. He probably thought they were making a name game. Mummy once told her that when Brea was really little, she and Papa used to say her name over and over until she learned it. Maybe they were playing that game again.

 

But this wasn't a _game_ time. She needed help with her monster so she could go back to sleep. She was very tired, after all.

 

"There's a monster upstairs," she explained, sticking her nose in the air. She had no idea that she looked a lot like Mummy doing it.

 

Papa huffed out a laugh, smiling, "Is there?"

 

"Yeah. Where's Mummy?"

 

"Your Mummy's at wor- ah, ah!" Papa yelped, grabbing at his side. He fell down, hitting his arm as he did. Brea squeaked, and hurried over to him.

 

"Papa, Papa! Why did you fall down?" she asked immediately, sitting beside him.

 

Papa was shaking, holding his arm to his tummy. He looked down at himself, then to Brea.

 

"I-I'm not..."

 

He stopped as she smiled back at him. He was probably laughing at himself.  It was very silly of him to fall down, after all. Brea sometimes laughed at herself when she did something silly. It was kind of funny, the whole thing.

 

After a long moment of staring, he laughed again.

 

"You- you know about the case I'm on, yeah?" he asked.

 

Brea nodded. Papa was on a very long case for work. Papa had lots of cases, and sometimes they took up a lot of his time, so sometimes she didn't see Papa for days, or sometimes he'd be home but he couldn't spend time with her because he was staring at his murder wall. But Mummy had explained this one was very different. A very bad man had come back to London, and he was doing things that hurt a lot of people, and Papa was doing all he could to stop him.

 

"Yes. Mummy says you're being very brave. Did you get the bad guy yet?"

 

"I-I... Yes, I did, Brea."

 

"That's good. Mummy will be very happy."

 

Papa made another breathy laugh, coming out very very shaky.

 

"I hope so," Papa looked at her, his eyes dark without the lights on in the kitchen, "What- wh-what is it that you wanted, Brea?"

 

"Oh! There's a monster under my bed."

 

"Is there?"

 

"Yeah. I thought I'd get Mummy to yell at it a bit, she's very good at that."

 

Papa's lip was wobbling as he laughed once more, "I reckon s-she'd be very good at it. You'll have to ask her when she gets ho-ome,"

 

"But I can't sleep now. Can I get tucked in?"

 

"May I be tucked in," Papa corrected calmly, then he winced, "Sorry. I don't mean to be rude, darling, it slips out."

 

Brea frowned, "You do it all the time."

 

"I don't doubt that," Papa laughed. Then his face contorted, and his head lolled back, "I-I-I am... I'm very tired, Brea. I might... might fall asleep."

 

"Oh dear,"

 

"Oh dear, yes," Papa smiled tightly, his eyes watering. He was crying!

 

"Why are you crying? Did I do something bad?"

 

"No no," Papa assured her quickly, "No, darling, you're doing so well. So brave, just like Mummy. Your Mummy loves you, Brea. And your Daddy loves you. Always r-remember,"

 

"I love you too, Papa," Brea said, and she leaned forward to kiss his forehead. Papa was crying a lot, and that made her chest hurt. She felt like crying too, because there was something wrong and Papa wasn't telling her, but he was trying to make it seem like it wasn't wrong.

 

"Good girl, what a wonderful girl-" he leaned his head back, lying down properly.

 

There was a bang downstairs with the front door opening. Brea's breath caught. The bad guys Papa was talking about? She looked back down quickly at Papa, who nodded to her.

 

"Go Brea, now, into your parents' room," he hissed to her. She hurried around him, trying not to slip on the juice that was on the floor (where did that come from?), and was about to go down the hall when she heard Papa - but not from the kitchen.

 

"Molly? Molly!" he was yelling Mummy's first name, but why? Brea stopped in her tracks, and stared confounded when Papa stepped into the living room - while he was also lying on the kitchen floor.

 

The Papa in the living room stooped over the man that was staring at the ceiling, pressing his hand to his neck, then he stood up sharply, saying a very Very _VERY_ bad word. He whirled around, his pale blue eyes piercing when he stared at Brea. Then, he looked at the Papa on the floor, and rushed over.

 

_"Sherrinford-!"_

 

"Is he dead?" Papa asked, grunting a little as he tried to sit up.

 

"Don't ask about it, shut up and stay still-"

 

"Sherlock-"

 

"I said shut up!" the other Papa snapped, and he pushed his hand into Papa's side.

 

"He was going after your girl, I managed to- get a knife in him. Should keep him down for a while-"

 

"Yeah, you got him, was that after he managed to stick you? Did you phone the-" Other Papa looked up suddenly, and barked at Brea, "Brea, get the phone, now!"

 

"I-I'm sorry," Papa whispered.

 

"No. More. Talking."

 

"S-She shouldn't see."

 

"Shut up, just shut up. We'll get help for you, John'll be here any minute."

 

"She's too little. Your daugh... too little..."

 

"Don't, don't, don't- Brea _GET THE PHONE!_ "

 

Brea burst into tears. She didn't know who was who, and she was being yelled at, and Papa was falling asleep and Other Papa was crying, crying without even realizing it.

 

"Sherlock... she's too small to see."

 

"She doesn't even know you," Other Papa's voice cracked, "She doesn't even know you."

 

"Not much to... know..."

 

"She's your niece, Sherrinford. Get to know her, stay awake long enough to get to know her. She's..." Other Papa looked up at Brea, then back down, "She's much better than I ever was, patient and smart, she's so smart, smarter than the two of us combined, and a little darling, she's kind and resourceful and stubborn-"

 

"Like you..."

 

"Like her mother, just like Molly. Sherrinf- stop it, stop it now! Stay awake, just stay awake until they get here- John will be here, he'll follow me, he'll show up, he'll patch you up and you'll be fine. You'll be... You'll be-"

 

He suddenly threw himself back, his back hitting the wall hard as he sat down properly. Other Papa put his hand over his eyes, his breathing sputtering out. Brea gave a small hiccup, and stepped forwards. Papa wasn't saying anything. His eyes were closed, and he was sleeping.

 

"H-he's sleeping," she said, observing out loud, "Just like he said he would."

 

Other Papa swallowed, and shook his head, his eyes still covered, "Brea... my Brea... my Brea..."

 

He dropped his hands, and took a big sniff, looking around desperately. He looked at her, clutching her blanket and her Paddington desperately, and started to crawl towards her. Brea backed away quickly, sticking her thumb in her mouth. Other Papa's breath caught, reaching out for her, his hand hovering in midair.

 

"Brea..." he whispered.

 

"I want Papa to wake up," she said, determined, "And I want Mummy."

 

"I-I'm your Papa. I'm Papa, Brea. That's your uncle, Brea, you- please."

 

None of that made sense. The sleeping Papa didn't look _anything like her uncle_.

 

"You lie," she started slowly. She stepped away, her voice rising as she began to panic, "You're lying, I want Mummy!"

 

"I'm not, I'm not lying-"

 

 _"WANT MUMMY!"_ she shrieked.

 

"Stop!" he yelled back, "She isn't here!"

 

Mummy would fix everything. She'd yell at Other Papa for yelling, and she'd yell at Papa to wake him up, and she'd yell at the monster under her bed so she could go to bed. She had to find Mummy, she wanted Mummy, she needed Mummy.

 

Brea went for the door, and wrenched it open.

 

She'd run all the way if she had to, she had to get Mummy. Other Papa yelled out behind her, but she skittered down the stairs. In her rush, she forgot to check on her blanket, and caught her foot on it. She stumbled and slid down the rest of the way. Her arm hurt, and she didn't want to stand up and run any more. She'd never ever been more scared before in her life ever before.

 

A man grabbed her. She wasn't sure if it was Papa or Other Papa, but he was warm and nice and soft to touch.

 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered over and over, cradling her like a little baby in his arms. She cried like one too, bawling into his chest until she felt like she couldn't cry any more, and a little more.

 

The front door crashed open, and Uncle John ran through, so fast that he almost was about to run right over them.

 

"Sherlock- Sherlock is that-" he stopped, looking at Brea, "Christ, what happened?"

 

"Sherrinford's dead," Papa croaked (It had to be Papa. That was Papa's name, his name was Sherlock), "Moran too, they're both... they're both upstairs."

 

"Brea- was she hurt? Oh Brea, hey hey," John kneeled down, reaching out for her. She sniffled, and let him touch her cheek, then her arm, which stung a little, "Did Moran get you? What happened?"

 

"Sherrinford understood the message faster than I did. Knew that Moran would come here to... to get Brea. He protected her. But she r-ran away from me, and fell down the stairs. It's just a bruise, it's just a bruise, right?"

 

"Yeah, just bruises. You poor thing, oh Brea," John hushed quietly. After a moment, he took a shaky breath and got to his feet, "I'll go... see Sherrinford. Just in case."

 

"There's nothing to see," Papa said, but Uncle John was already moving past, heading up the staircase.

 

Brea hid her head in Papa's neck, her breath coming out in little sighs. She was so sad, and she hurt so much, but she didn't understand. None of it made sense.

 

"Papa," she asked, picking her head up, "Who's Sherrinford?"

 

His chest went out as he took a very big breath, and he pressed his mouth to her forehead so Brea couldn't see his face.

 

"He's-" Papa went quiet, making little sniffing noises, as if he was sick. He sounded a bit like Brea, who's arm still hurt so much, even though Uncle John said it was just a boo-se. Papa gave a sigh, "He is my twin brother, Brea. Your uncle."

 

"I got an uncle," she muttered, "Uncle Myke."

 

Papa exhaled again, like he was doing his very best to laugh and it wasn't working very good. He nodded a little, "You can have more than one uncle. You know Mycroft, unfortunately, but you've... before now you've never met Uncle Sherrinford."

 

"Why?"

 

"Well," Sniffing a little, Papa shifted her in his arms, holding her a little tighter, rocking a little. It was nice, like being little. Like falling asleep and nothing was wrong, "He's just been... away, Brea, doing a very important job. A secret job, one even I can't tell you much about."

 

That made Brea's head stick up, her tiny voice protesting, "But you know _everything_."

 

"Yes, well... that's how secret the job was. Your uncle Sherrinford had to go away for a long, long time. But he came back... He came back because I needed his help. There's something I have, something so, so important, that must be protected. There are bad people out in the world, people who want to hurt this fragile, beautiful, smart thing of mine. I needed your uncle's help to save it."

 

"Did he help? Did he help save your important thing?" Brea pulled away, trying to find Papa's eyes, and was surprised to see that he was crying hard. She reached out, putting her hands on his face, over the tears. Mummy liked to do this for her, wipe her face clean when she gets it dirty when she cries. It always makes her feel so much better, but Papa's lip was wobbling. He looked as though he'd cry more, and Brea didn't want him to. She made a little hushing sound, just like Mummy.

 

"Papa?"

 

"Yes," he moved, putting his very big hand over her little one on his cheek. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze, "Yes, he saved that very important thing."


End file.
